a mirror image in three dimensional space
by Kira
Summary: 'People aren't supposed to meet their alternate, Olivia decides.' Olivia and Alt!livia speak over coffee after the bridge is formed.


_I like to write little ficlets over on my Tumblr (you can get the address from my profile!) and this one grew pretty quickly! Written in post for Camila & her love for all things Olivia. ;) Okay, this turned out a LOT longer than I thought. Not beta'ed. Set right after _The Day We Died_. Read and enjoy. _

**a mirror image in three-dimensional space  
><strong>

_People say that your dreams are the only things that save you._

-Arcade Fire, "Rebellion (Lies)"

Olivia stands by the coffee machine and grabs the container. The machine's old, battered, with scuffs across the polished steel surface, a rush job, to be sure. There's so much here that's been pulled together, brought in the chaos of moving the machine — a machine that now hangs dormant, quiet but not completely silent. She can feel the soft hum, knows there's life in it yet.

She pours herself a cup, then another, and reaches for the sugar. Behind her, Red is sitting at the round table in this little break corner, the two alone as others begin making plans in this meshed reality.

Reaching for the milk, she calls behind her, "Milk and sugar, right?" And wonders how she knows this.

"Yup," calls back Red. Her voice is a bit higher than the one in Olivia's head, is the same as the greeting on her voicemail message, and it feels weird to hear it come from someone else.

_Except she isn't someone else_, Olivia reminds herself as she stirs her cup of coffee, _she's you_.

Plastering on a smile despite her suspicions, her discomfort — _and why does she feel this way if they've never met?_ — Olivia places the milk-and-sugar mug in front of Red before taking a seat next to her.

"So," she begins, and finds Red smiles just like her, the face in the mirror. "Red, huh?"

Red's smile grows a bit shy. "Yeah. I was looking for a change. Plus, my boyfriend likes it."

"Boyfriend?" prompts Olivia. She feels odd, like she already knows the answer, has a flash of what this boyfriend might look like, and hides her confusion with a sip of her coffee. There's something there on the edge of her mind, a mist obscuring something _important_.

"Frank. He works for the CDC, on our side," explains Red. "God, this coffee is amazing. It's so hard to find."

"I don't know what I'd do if there wasn't coffee."

"I do," grins Red, "you learn to like tea."

Olivia makes a face. Red does the same, and they laugh, just a bit.

"This is all crazy, you know," says Red. "I mean, God, a bridge between universes? Just yesterday, I was ready to come over here and do whatever I could to find your weaknesses, and now we're sitting together."

"Drinking coffee," points out Olivia.

"Right," sighs Red. "I could never destroy a universe with coffee."

They fall silent, Red enjoying her coffee way too much, but maybe that's how Olivia would feel if such a think were so difficult to find. She tries to imagine it, living in another universe, all those slight, shifted changes — would she be happy there? Would she have lived somewhere else, be doing something else, have a boyfriend instead of an empty apartment?

And yet that doesn't feel right. She frowns, confused at her own thoughts. Why does that thought bother her so much?

She wants answers to those questions, yearns for them, feels a nervous tingling in her stomach at the prospect of actually _knowing_ them, but holds her tongue still. Lets the coffee burn it a bit, and revels in the sensation. While Olivia needs to know how things are different, she's afraid of what she'll discover — afraid of feeling bad, or of feeling good, of having a hold over Red, sitting there, across from her, enjoying her mug of coffee.

Of Red having a hold over her.

People aren't supposed to meet their alternate, Olivia decides. They're not supposed to see their mirror image in three-dimensional space, speak to them, laugh the same laugh. She's suspicious of her alternate, angry, and has no idea why. If they've never met, why would she be questioning the motives of _herself_?

"What happened to the Secretary over here?" Red asks suddenly. Her hands are cupped around her mug, half-empty, lipstick staining the rim where she drank from.

Olivia's mug is clean.

"There was an accident in his lab," explains Olivia, "and his assistant was killed. He's been in a mental institution for 17 years."

The story causes Red to raise a curious eyebrow. "Really? Walter Bishop, insane?"

Olivia sighs and wishes for more coffee. For a hand to hold, for a sarcastic remark and _what is wrong with her?_

"He's not so much insane as missing parts of his brain. Extracted by William Bell."

"You've lost me. Who is William Bell?"

Olivia shakes her head; the story is too complicated, too involved. Walter Bishop is a closely-guarded secret, an asset to the FBI through loopholes in Massachusetts state law, kept in a basement lab. She looks through the gap in the walls, out to the main floor, where their equipment mixes with hers, and finds she can't find the right vocabulary for her thoughts. How do you differentiate?

Walter is with his alternate, standing, their voices coming out in a rush. The melody is the same but the cadence is different, the tone up and down. Walter's double speaks with authority, his words clipped and thought out, while Walter is scattered, grabbing bits and pieces from all around, trying to form a thought that is missing a piece.

If someone were observing her and Red, would they think the same thing?

"You're trying to decide how much you can tell me," says Red. "And I get it. We were enemies until about ten minutes ago. But the only way we're going to fix all this is if we're honest with each other."

"We weren't the ones on the offense. We didn't send shapeshifters to your side to gather information and rip holes in our universe," Olivia shoots back. She finds comfort in the weight of her gun on her hip and notes her alternate isn't armed.

"We were trying to save our universe. Don't tell me you'd do the same thing, if the opertunity presented itself."

"I don't think I would."

Red laughs. It's almost haunting, and is not Olivia. "Isn't that wonderful."

"But you're right," Olivia concedes, leaning forward. She's still wearing her heavy wool coat, the room here below sea level chilly, but feels it's weighing her down. "We're both working to preserve our universes, and the only way that is going to happen is if we work together."

"Truce?" Red asks, holding out her hand.

Olivia smiles and grasps it. A tingle of electricity runs up her arm, shocks her heart, but they're shaking, now, coming together to save the world. They can do this, they can fix the holes and give meaning to all the deaths that have resulted from Walter and William Bell playing with the laws of physics.

But she's shaking Red's hand, looking in those identical eyes, and can't shake the feeling that she's _missing something_.

She hears a whisper, a voice she can't quite remember, and when Red lets go, their hands dropping to their sides, both reflect the same haunted look in their green starburst eyes.

"You feel it too, don't you," questions Red.

"Yeah."

Red shakes her head, now determined, ready to find the truth, and Olivia realizes she's doing the same thing.

She wrinkles her nose and says, "It's like a dream I can't remember. There's something there — something in me that doesn't like you."

Olivia's gaze passes over her shoulder, to the open room, to the humming machine, and she runs a hand through her hair, trying not to blink — she smiles at Red, then, and motions to their mugs.

"Want a refill?"

"I'd love one."

She gathers the mugs, walks to the coffee maker, and catches her reflection in the polished surface, her and Red, with a ghost on the side.


End file.
